


as sharp as the knife's edge

by hanekoma



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:35:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanekoma/pseuds/hanekoma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After going into dreams time after time, Arthur's body was beginning to have trouble distinguishing between dream and reality.</p><p>Originally written for inception_kink.</p>
            </blockquote>





	as sharp as the knife's edge

**Author's Note:**

> Written for inception_kink for this prompt:
> 
> "After enough time in dreams, the injuries suffered during dreams begin to manifest themselves as Briquet's syndrome/a somatoform disorder. (If you want to throw Eames into the suffering as well, identity crisis-related problems are welcome.)
> 
> Hurt/comfort, angst, drug use, crack (hopefully involving psychologists and various shenanigans), happy ending, mind-numbingly depressing ending—anything's fine with me, as long as it's not 100% porn. (I feel very, very odd posting that statement in a kink meme.)"

It was subtle at first. A pain in the side that would linger well after the dream had dropped off. Maybe a throbbing knee pain. _It's nothing,_  Arthur told himself. Which, it was. That is, until he started having a hard time even crawling off the lawn chair he'd been knocked out on. A few times, he'd wake up unable to breathe. (He hated drowning the most.)

Despite how many times he rolled his die, it always came up as striking reality. His body kept telling him otherwise. Even if he went in to get checked, he knew he'd be brushed off. Told that he should "see" someone. None of the doctors would ever take him seriously.

It was getting harder and harder for him to hide it from the team. He'd laugh it off and make an excuse, but the excuses were running thin and he could see the concern and doubt in everyone's eyes. Especially  _his._  And he hated it.

They'd gone down together for some training. No one else around. It was all good and well until Eames turned on him. That apologetic expression perplexed him up to the point where he felt the knife plunging into his stomach. Pain ripped through him until Eames pulled a gun on him, putting him out of that suffering, joining him shortly there after.

Except the pain didn't stop. He curled in on himself, arms wrapped tight around his gut, gasping and panting for air. It felt like it would never end. Gradually the pain lessened, but he knew this mental scar would hurt like hell for weeks to come. After all, he was still feeling the last three times.

"Arthur, you're going to have to stop." Those words hurt more than any knife he'd felt in his dreams, worse than any lingering pain. He wanted nothing more than to vomit.

The sharp glare focused on Eames. "You're exaggerating. Besides, Cobb needs me on this." He refused to give it up. He had control. That was who he was.

Casually, Eames rounded Arthur, placing his hands on his shoulders from behind the chair. He held him down in place, knowing he wouldn't be able to struggle very hard with the pain.

"I'd have to disagree with you on this. While you are the best at what you do..." A pause. "No, perhaps I should be honest, while you were the best at what you do-"

"What the hell would you know?" Arthur snapped back. Pure outrage. He had never been so burned in his life. The part that upset him the most is that he knew Eames was telling the truth. He was slipping. His mind wasn't as clear cut as it had been when he started. It didn't lessen the blow at all, though, knowing that.

At that, Eames let go of him. He wandered back in front of Arthur, staring him down. "Then we should ask Cobb's opinion on this one."

Panic rose. Arthur knew that the moment Cobb heard about this, he'd be off the job. Not because of the team's safety, but because of concern over Arthur's safety. While Cobb was reckless about his own selfish behavior, he couldn't let others follow in stride.

"Eames,  _no._ " There was a hint of pleading behind his voice, which distressed him even more than the situation itself. He was never one to beg. Never one to lose control. It wasn't so much about the job anymore as it was losing his choices. He felt what he'd imagined a cornered animal felt like with only the prospect of a cage ahead of him.

Before Eames could come back with something else that would be like a kick to the face, Arthur continued on. "Besides, this isn't your problem. It won't affect you on this job any and then you'll be off with another team. Weren't you already scheduled for another job after this one completed?"

Finally, Arthur was able to sit up some, hand rubbing his stomach. At this point, he didn't even bother to look at Eames anymore, completely missing the concerned expression.

Too bad for him, but Eames was determined to express his concern. He crouched down in front of Arthur, the expression on his face being interpreted all wrong. Arthur was on the defense; he took it as pity.

Whatever Eames launched into next, Arthur missed completely. He assumed it was some trite response, ignoring any words that might try to undermine him into quitting. So, he was extremely confused by the hurt expression Eames gave him when there was no response.

"Fine. Do as you will." Never before had Arthur heard such a cold tone from Eames. Part of him wanted to stop Eames as he got up to leave, but his pride most certainly wouldn't let him. The rest of the job would surely be an awkward thing.

And awkward it was. All the playful little banter that Eames would toss out at him was gone. This unnerved the rest of the team as well. They all could tell something was going on. Arthur saw both Ariadne and Cobb try to ask Eames what was wrong. To that, he'd glance over to Arthur, give a shrug and look away.

Cobb finally approached Arthur, ushering him away from everyone else. "I'm concerned about you, Arthur. You seem to be having troubles with the kicks lately and now this with Eames. What's going on?" He could hear the genuine concern laced in Cobb's tone, but it didn't make him feel any better about the situation.

"Everything's fine, Cobb. Eames and I just had a disagreement that went too far. It won't hinder the job." Arthur mustered up the best assuring smile he could give to Cobb.

"And what about the kicks?"

Arthur patted Cobb's shoulder, as if thanking him for the concern as he started to walk by. "It's nothing. Thank you for worrying." Really, he hated to lie, but he even he was having trouble grasping the reality of what was happening.

After the job finished, there was a drought of work. At least, a drought for Arthur. Cobb was concerned about his health and kept buffering off his calls, claiming there was some down time. It was obvious to Arthur that Cobb was lying, trying to protect him, which made the whole situation that much worse.

There was still access to the PASIV Device, though. He could do it alone. Train himself to ignore the pain, or so he told himself. Different spots he'd test every time. First, a shot to the foot; later, his shoulder would get hit. Instead of getting better, being able to cope, it grew worse.

Yet he couldn't stop. It was becoming like an addictive game. A sick and twisted challenge he kept pushing himself in. The frequency was becoming more often. A dangerous level of sedation playing into the mix. Eating and normal sleep were decreasing.  _It's okay, though. I can do this,_  he assured himself over and over.

Soon, Arthur didn't even answer his calls. Even if Cobb wouldn't give him jobs, there was still concern coming from the man. He couldn't find the strength to lie to him anymore, so he just opted to ignore that ringing.

Even going outside stopped. When he ran out of supplies inside the apartment, he told himself tomorrow, which always turned to the day after.

Then there was a knock. It sounded desperate. His strength was sapped at this point and all he could do was barely lift his head to look at the door. And then a voice. "Let me in.  _Now._ " More banging.

 _Eames' voice!_  he mused.  _I must be to the point of hallucinations._  But this was no hallucination. It was real. Under normal circumstances, Arthur would have yelled at Eames for breaking in, which he'd done once before, but under very different circumstances.

It was almost startling when he felt himself being picked up. The human contact felt strange after so long. Instead of fighting and shoving him away, he closed his eyes, resigning himself to whatever fate was in store.

That first drink of cool water on his lips felt so refreshing that he almost wanted to cry. The process was long and difficult. At first he had to be fed by Eames, which would normally humiliate him, but there wasn't much left in him to be bothered. Every day, Eames would delicately dress and undress Arthur, bathing him until he was able to do it for himself.

During this whole process, he was grateful that Eames was making phone calls and keeping the others away. It was bad enough one person was seeing him in this state. There weren't many words exchanged. Eames knew Arthur would realize what he had done was probably one of the dumbest things ever and Arthur didn't really want to talk about the situation he'd gotten into.

Eames lingered far past what was needed for the rehabilitation, probably out of concern that he might relapse again. Try to get over that pain on his own again.

"I'll be fine. I won't do that again," Arthur finally muttered one day. He still was far from being back to his old strength, but he certainly wasn't about to keel over and die anymore.

Eames finally looked at him. Arthur realized that it hadn't been since the day of their fight that he looked into the other man's eyes. There was something worn down in them, not holding their usual glimmer. "I know."

Pushing up from his chair, Arthur walked over toward him. "Then why are you staying?" He didn't mean for the question to sound like he was kicking Eames out. He was grateful for him taking care of him this whole time, not that he has talked about it at any length.

A small laugh from the other man, accompanied by a wry smile. "You really want me gone, hm?"

"Eames, I didn't mean it like that."

"But it certainly sounded like it." Eames didn't even bother to mask the hurt in his tone. He shook his head, standing. "Then, I'll go."

At that moment, Arthur could have cursed his pride. In reality, he wanted nothing more than for Eames to stay. He cringed a bit as the door slammed behind Eames, walking over to the couch. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled the die out, rolling it a few times across the nightstand.

 _This is my reality._ His eyes fixed over on the PASIV device.


End file.
